


Obsession

by ClementineStarling



Category: Welcome to the Punch (2013)
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5683264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/pseuds/ClementineStarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hatred is a fragile thing, so easily twisted, so easily turned into something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [a prompt](http://unsettledink.livejournal.com/112061.html?thread=1019069#t1019069) by [scrapbullet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet) for the 3rd commentficwar @unsettled's Livejournal:  
> "Welcome to the Punch - Max Lewinsky/Jacob Sternwood; anything post movie with Sternwood not letting Max rot in jail."

Hatred is a fragile thing, so easily twisted, so easily turned into something else.

Max does not know why, but sometimes he feels they're even now, Jake and him. Perhaps because Sternwood pulled his sorry ass out of the squad car. “Coppers like you don't survive inside,” he said. Perhaps he needed to save at least someone.

After that everything was a bit of a blur, every day another city, every week another name. They're trying to cover their tracks, and Sternwood seems astonishingly good at it. Not that it's really a surprise.

What is are the dreams Max is having lately. Or more precisely, how they have changed. It's still the same nightmare: the chase, the shot, but then, everything changes, Sternwood stays, kneels beside him and says things like “Let me kiss it better.” It has been several times now, that Max woke from the sensation of a hot mouth closing around his cock. Damn his unconscious and how it twists things around!

Apart from the dreams he invokes, Sternwood is pleasant company though, taciturn, but not in a bad way. He's a man you can share a comfortable sort of silence with.

So there is no reason for Max to complain, until one day, rather late, they arrive in a small Czech town and the hotel has only one room left. Bathroom, double bed, it could be worse, but suddenly Max thinks of his dreams and swallows hard. Sternwood, unsurprisingly, does not blink an eye. He carries the bags to the room and announces to get them a couple of beers, while Max takes a shower.

He's just made himself comfortable on the bed, when Sternwood returns, hands him a bottle of Budvar and begins to undress. Very matter of fact, without the slightest hesitance until he is fully naked. Max mouth goes dry. Sternwood is... well, every bit as fit as he's expected. Wiry muscle, wide frame, a climber's body. His gaze follows the trail of hair downwards, catches on Sternwood's crotch. It's only when Sternwood doesn't move anymore but stills, that he realises he is watched in return. His eyes dart up and meet Sternwood's that are calm and warm and unwavering. Not unlike that moment he had his gun on him, and Max can feel the blood rising in his cheeks.

“I'll take that shower now, I think,” Sternwood says with only the slightest hint of amusement in his voice and walks into the bathroom. A moment later Max hears the water being turned on, and he has excruciatingly long five minutes to dwell on how to react when Sternwood comes back. He opens his beer, and takes a good long pull. When it comes to getting drunk (as opposed to going through horror scenarios in your head) five minutes are not exactly long. Still, somehow he manages to feel a bit dizzy already, when Sternwood returns, a towel slung low around his hips and droplets of water rolling off his skin.

Now, whatever Max has expected, it's not this: Sternwood sits next to him on the edge of the bed, takes the nearly empty beer bottle out of his hand, puts it to his own lips, drains it, sets it aside. Then he leans closer. Max sits like hypnotised. Only when Sternwood is so close, that there is no more chance to mistake his intention, he opens his mouth to protest. “Jake--,” he says, but then Sternwood's lips are already on his, and his tongue is in his mouth, and it feels like his blood is catching fire. A burning surge of hot pleasure washes through him, little lightning bolts of arousal. “Jake,” he tries again, when Sternwood breaks away, but Sternwood is too focussed on getting Max out of his shirt to pay any particular attention.

Then his hands are all over his chest, stroking, rubbing, teasing, and Max can't help but gasp as fingers brush against his nipples, again and again, eliciting a surprised pant every time, and Sternwood's expression is so incredibly smug, Max has to close his eyes. It's not long after that a hand slips into his boxers, closing around his cock, and this time a throaty moan that wells up from his chest, a sound that Sternwood is quick to stifle with another kiss.

The fingers around him feel every bit as glorious as he could have imagined, just the perfect amount of pressure, just the right pull of rough callus on tender skin. And every sly twist of Sternwood's hand turns the rawness in Max's chest into another kind of obsession.


End file.
